Cliché
by norifollort
Summary: In which Christophe finds himself in another one of his painful dilemmas. Rated T for violence/gore.


**In which Christophe finds himself in another one of his painful dilemmas. **

It's no surprise to me that I am my own worst enemy.

I'm stuck in all these situations, and I only gain more scars from my jobs, but it's the money I need to survive.

The puff of smoke dwindled as I exhaled, eyes blank while watching Death himself walk before me.

My arms were bound by rope behind my back, and I chewed on the cigarette to keep my mouth shut from saying anything that would become a mistake.

I found myself in Hell,

Literally Hell.

"You know those things will shorten your life."

"Cliché."

We were quiet for a moment longer, he was toying with me.

I wasn't dead. Actually, in order to correctly do one of my jobs, I had to come down here, with some weird ritual that I'm never doing again.

* * *

><p>Blood slightly blinded me in my right eye, and I had to stop myself from sniffling the gore back up into my nose.<p>

A moment ago my mouth was tightly wrapped with white cloth, and he praised me—

Apparently I was being "good".

I was only "good" because I was tied to a chair with my shovel thrown carelessly across his bedroom.

I was in the eyes of a predator.

And I was damn good at hiding my fear.

* * *

><p>I prepared myself when I saw his fist draw back, my teeth clenching and I inhaled sharply, my eyes reacting with my flinch.<p>

He didn't hit me though.

He laughed.

* * *

><p>"Christophe, I know you're scared."<p>

The mirth in his voice was unbearable, and the cigarette fell from my mouth as I cursed. Maybe I came off a little more apprehensive than I thought.

* * *

><p>Next thing I knew my cheeks were being grabbed harshly and my head was swaying with Damien's hands in a mock-Grandmother fashion, I tried biting him.<p>

"Don't touch me."

"Cliché."

* * *

><p>He was angry.<p>

His fingers clenched around the armrests, and he grinned.

The land was uncomfortable, and I tried twisting in the chair to get my forehead to stop its painful pressing on the stone floor.

He pushed the chair to the side, and I narrowed my eyes while staring at his shoes.

I want another smoke.

* * *

><p>My face was smashed in, he obviously took advantage of the situation.<p>

"What a pity, you were so pretty—"

I found a dirty, old boot slowly pushing at my lips, "I'd heal you up if you would just comply."

Lol no.

* * *

><p>Fire was getting dangerously close to my face.<p>

Not that this situation wasn't already dangerous.

* * *

><p>My skin was peeling off, the fire was too hot.<p>

"Stopstop, please, oh god, please—"

"God's not here."

_Cliché._

* * *

><p>The knife danced in front of my eyes, I knew where it was going.<p>

I screeched. It was something you'd hear in a movie. Terrified. I'm so terrified.

Don't give in, don't give in—

Was I making all those noises?

All the crying? Screaming?

I'm not going to do what he wants

I'll die instead.

"Kill me now, just make it end, _do it now_, please…"

* * *

><p>"This is getting annoying, Christophe."<p>

* * *

><p>Fingers were tightly wrapped around my neck, my tan skin bruised.<p>

I choked, and my vision got blurry. I could see the fire in his eyes, and his terribly wide grin.

I should keep my mouth shut.

Maybe not cuss out people who are Princes to Hell.

That'd be a good start to making my life better.

* * *

><p>I want this to end, when will this all end, just now please, I want to die, end this now, Damien, bless me with death, please, just end it now—<p>

* * *

><p>I started to laugh after a while.<p>

It hurt so bad, I couldn't deal with the pain anymore. My skin was hanging at an awkward angle, my face was smashed, and my nose was oddly crunched up. I was drenched in my own blood, how was I not dead yet, how was he keeping me alive for so long, this didn't make any sense.

Maybe I can live through this.

* * *

><p>I don't want to live through this.<p>

Dammit. I just can't. I'm so uncomfortable, I can't even cry anymore, my throat feels clogged with phlegm.

My breath hitched as I saw the door creak open.

_Nonononono._

* * *

><p>His cackles filled the room as he sawed off my fingers, deliberately slow.<p>

I'm pulling away my hand but it's not working, the horribly dull knife taking forever to get its job done.

Hurryuphurryup, I can't deal with this.

My legs are shaking, and tears start to run down my face again after hours of them disappearing.

The dried blood was starting to make me want to itch, and I started to rub my cheek against my shoulder to wipe away my stinging tears.

The skin on my cheeks peeling off once more.

I screamed.

* * *

><p>He decided to slowly peel the melting skin off my face and arms.<p>

The rivets of blood popping up quickly and combining to run down my body.

I hiccupped.

And my breathing started getting faster.

I started to hyperventilate.

Stop it. He needed to stop.

My eyes drooped slowly.

Was this it?

Death.

* * *

><p>After passing out, and thinking I was actually dead, I woke up to someone holding me.<p>

They were awfully warm, and gentle.

Gregory?

No, I noticed the stone floors and started to sob, the man above me started to grin, "Sh, I'm healing you."

* * *

><p>"<em>Obey<em> me, Christophe."

"Never."

* * *

><p>Gurgling, spitting, coughing.<p>

"_Can't breathe—"_

"Comply."

I can't.

I was back under, the water filling my lungs, and I was gasping for air, met with more water, I can't breathe.

Drowning, I was drowning. I can't breathe. A small hope of him dragging me back up squeaked at the back of my head.

Nonono. Can't breathe.

My chest grew tight.

I think I was going to pass out again.

I was begging into the water, but the chilled liquid filled my lungs once more. I needed to stop breathing, all it did was make my chest feel like imploding.

Let me up, let me up.

I was _begging_ now.

* * *

><p>"Christophe!"<p>

Gregory.

My lungs burned, and I curled deeper into his chest as he kneeled beside me.

"Christophe, come on, Christophe, don't die on me. You're freezing cold—"

I preferred the snow to hell's warmth. As long as I knew I was far away from that psycho.

"Who did this to you?—"

I was sobbing, I didn't want to, but I was. It hurt my throat to talk, but I had to get something out, anything.

"_I want to go home."_


End file.
